


wanna be the only one that you know

by girljustdied



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: 1, 2, they're a pair of freaks, really.





	wanna be the only one that you know

**Author's Note:**

> post 2x03.

He thinks about her.

Alisha jumps to the basest conclusion, but he can’t fault her for it. Not entirely. Sometimes he’ll watch her with Curtis, or dancing in a club, and he’ll wonder if she’d ever considered that there even was other ways people could think about her. Same way he’d assume nobody ever thought about him at all, never laid in bed at night remembering the things he’d said or done, wondering why.

He wonders why. About her. And how. So many defenses—he’ll watch her pick up litter with furrowed brows, or smirk at her own reflection in the window she’s cleaning, or stare out into the far distance with her small, delicate hands in fists, and try to imagine what she’s hiding. Maybe they’re more alike than anyone’d think. Stranger things have happened.

She’d painted her nails a pale, dusky blue on Tuesday, only to show up with a vibrant, angry red on Wednesday. Maybe there were secrets there. He likes a puzzle.

He likes her.

Besides, it’s not like she’s wholly wrong. He has wanked over her, before. Sometimes he’d try to think about other things, but Alisha’d sneak in. Sometimes he didn’t try. Imagined her surprised, and opened up, her mouth raw and lipstick smudged. Imagined he could make her feel things she never had before—something more than pleasure, more than desire, just _more_. Imagined her voice, “Too much—oh, fuck, oh, god.” Imagined her lying in her own bed, hands dug under her knickers, thinking about him only.

He could imagine that last one the easiest, because he’d watched her do it. Once. On accident. Mostly on accident. Used his power to walk with her back to her flat one evening. He did this sometimes when he was lonely, in the beginning—stayed with Curtis or Kelly or even Nathan for a time after they’d rejected his offers to go out for a drink at the pub.

It was creepy. He was creepy. But what was he supposed to do if they’d never—

Well. It was best not to go there. Things had changed. Incrementally, perhaps, but enough all the same. Friends. He had friends.

He’d only gone home with Alisha once. Sort of liked the thought of watching her make supper. She claimed she didn’t cook whenever Curtis joked about playing house with her, but obviously she had to eat. He watched her pick up a kebab on the way, so that was shot, but he stayed with her anyway. Paced with her on the streets for a long stretch of time before he realized that she wasn’t going anywhere specific. Just walking, walking, walking. Stayed with her even though it got late, made sure she got home safe and sat on the floor by her bed while she washed up.

She’d come from the bath only wearing a pair of small, striped knickers and a short robe. This is when he should have left, probably. Definitely when she tugged off said robe. He couldn’t avert his eyes all the way. He was invisible, so what was the point? It didn’t hurt anyone. And then she turned off the light and crawled into bed, so he’d assumed that she was just going to sleep. Maybe that even was her intention. At first.

He listened to her breathing for signs of sleep. Did she snore? What a thing to learn about her. But mostly it was simply quiet and measured, even though she kept turning from one side to the other, restless. Just as he was preparing to get up as quietly as he could, she let out a loud, frustrated sigh. Kicked off her covers. He froze in a half-crouch at the sight of her on her bed like that.

Stay or go? Weak or strong?

She covered a breast with one hand, fingers curling in to toy with the nipple. Snuck the other under her knickers and closed her eyes. Exhaled with relief.

He left before he could watch her finish. Felt so ashamed that he’d cried after wanking off in his own room later—harsh, rough, wheezy sobs he tried his best to keep trapped in his chest.

_“Sometimes, I think it’s difficult for beautiful girls. People don’t see past their looks.”_

He wasn’t much better than any of the others really, was he? Even now the thought fills him to the brim with self-loathing.

He would have to be. Better. Different. For her.  


**2.**

She watches him.

Strange how learning to pay attention suddenly makes everything seem so obvious. Alisha’d spent a lot of time purposely ignoring Simon before. She tries to keep it up now—act normal—but after a while it feels absolutely ridiculous. They’re supposed to fall in love, for fuck’s sake. There couldn’t be any harm in sitting with him as he eats his lunch, or allowing a small smile to quirk on her lips whenever he makes a stupid joke, or watching the lines of his back as he changes in the locker room.

She just wants to feel close to him. Feel close to _him_. She’s never felt close to anyone before. Not really.

“You shouldn’t come here every night,” the older, wiser, fitter Simon murmurs quietly. Curls a lock of her hair around his index finger. “They’ll get suspicious.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit,” she replies. Moves to straddle him, make his eyes get reverent and focused again.

But she does care. She wonders how that happened. It makes her angry—just the thought of someone having such a hold over her. That’s not the way she operates.

The Simon of the present starts seeing a girl. That’s when things go pear shaped. She knew it was going to happen. Even knew how it might make her feel—

_“Are you jealous?”_

_“Shut up.”_

She watches them kiss—for the first time if his face is anything to go by—in a pub the whole gang went to for a nightcap. Watches them and thinks about how raw she feels over it, and that she can’t even comfort herself with the reasoning that she shouldn’t, that she has no claims over that boy.

Not him. Not yet.

She follows him when he leaves the group to take a piss. Finds him at a urinal, locks the door behind her before speaking up.

“Wanna piss on my tits instead?”

He grunts in surprise, body jerking when he turns his head to look at her, which makes him miss the urinal and hit the wall rather hilariously for a few seconds before he finishes.

“That’s not funny,” he half-stutters. Makes her realize that he hasn’t in a while. Growing into the man she spends her nights with slowly but surely. Possibly. Zips up and moves to wash his hands immediately. Even in fight or flight mode, he worries about cleanliness. It’s bizarrely charming. “What are you—you don’t belong in here.”

She doesn’t answer him, explain her presence. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, anyway. Just watches the way his arms flex, how his jaw clenches. Blocks the door when he tries to leave.

“Alisha—” she cups his cheek with a firm hand. His eyes roll back, “I want to fuck your pussy with an ice lolly and then drink it out.”

She’s heard worse, especially from him. “Yeah?”

He struggles. She can see it in his face. But then he grabs her bare arms and shoves her up against the door.

“Yeah. Yes,” his mouth fastening to her neck. It’s awkward as she shimmies up his body, lets him hold her up with her legs slung around his waist. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, doesn’t know her body like— “Blue-flavored.”

She puts her hands in his hair, closes her eyes.

“Fuckin’ kiss me, Simon,” she orders. “Don’t say another word.”

He does what she says immediately, doesn’t even lick a teasing line up her throat like—well, like he will someday. He’s somehow both eager and hesitant at the same time, his tongue unsure against hers when she plunges it in his mouth. She clutches his face with both hands.

“Just do what I do,” she murmurs against his lips before slanting her head to get better access.

He mirrors her, head tilting slightly in the opposite direction, hands moving to tangle in her hair. Twists his tongue against hers—better. Much better.

A fast learner. She can’t wait to teach—

Shit. She shouldn’t—not _yet_. Presses her feet back down to the floor and shoves him as hard as she can; he disconnects from her and skids back, breathing hard, eyes sharp and glinting in the light as they stare right through her.

“Are you gonna shag that bint?” she blurts out.

“That’s none of your business.” He’s hurt. She doesn’t know if she’s ever seen him look so torn up, not since he’d grown up and come back from some mysterious, horrible future and first revealed himself to her.

She strides towards him slowly. “You gonna think about me when you do?”

He doesn’t answer. Seems to be thinking something through before he puts his hands carefully on her hips over her shirt and pins her against the sink. “Is that what you want?”

Yeah, he’s hers all right.


End file.
